


Agent, Secret

by dietplainlite



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Background Mystrade, Cunnilingus, F/F, Femslash, Fingering, First Time, Oral Sex, femmeslash, salthea - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:12:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3656769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dietplainlite/pseuds/dietplainlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s been ages since she did any real field work and Anthea feels conspicuous as she tails Sally Donovan on her walk.  She doesn’t  know what she expects to discover; everything pertinent about the detective can be found in Mycroft’s dossier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Agent, Secret

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a commission from anonymous. I was so pleased to get to work with a pairing I'd never really considered, with such a lovely story idea. Thank you!

A car alarm’s incessant beeping keeps time with the pounding in Sally’s head as she peels away from her pillow.  She wishes briefly that she was an American copper with easy access to a gun so she could shoot the bloody car and put it out of its misery.

She’s not hungover; it’s just a good old fashioned wallop to the back of the head.  But she’d gotten the bastard anyway.

Her phone buzzes. 

_—Don’t even think about coming in today.  You deserve the day off.—_

The car alarm stops.  Sally flips her pillow over to the cool side and burrows in.  Smiles into the crisp cotton.

“I do, don’t I?”

 

* * *

 

In a moderately-sized town house in Pall Mall, the work day began two hours ago.  The housekeeper comes in with the tea as Anthea clears her boss’s desk in preparation for his next conference call.  The housekeeper lays the tea on a small table and Anthea gathers the morning’s newspapers to be taken to the recycling bin.  There’s a thick file folder underneath the New York Times. 

“Ah,” Mycroft says as he enters the room.  “I was just coming for that.  We’ve had our eye on Sergeant Donovan for quite some time. The events of last night have put her at the top of our list.”

“Excuse me, sir, which list?” 

 

* * *

 “Absobloodylutely not!” Lestrade shouts into his desk phone.

“Don’t you think you should let her make that decision?” the cool voice replies.

“I can’t spare her right now, not with this Waters Gang thing and all this publicity with your brother.  I’ve got no one to replace her.”

“It’s still her decision to make.”

“And you already know what she’ll choose, don’t you?”

“Actually, no,” Mycroft says.  “She’s somewhat surprising at times, don’t you agree?”

“Whatever.  Just find me a few good candidates to replace her before you make the offer.”

“Of course.”  A pause.  “Dinner at 7?”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be there.”  Lestrade hangs up and puts his head in his hands.  “Bloody hell.”

  

* * *

Sally is out of bed but still in her pajamas.  She’s rummaging around in her fridge when her phone buzzes again.

— _Nice work, though I’d have managed to do it without getting a concussion_.—

—I do not have a concussion but if you’d like one I’ll

“No, “she says as she clears the screen and deletes his text.  She’s managed to only interact with him when absolutely necessary since his return.  Oddly enough, it’s made him pester her more than he ever did before, but she refuses to take the bait today.

Today she is going to order enough Chinese for four people and catch up on the backlog of shows on her DVR.  And while she’s waiting for the food she’s going to take a shower and put on clean pajamas.

Last night, after she’d gotten the all clear from the doctor and sat in the passenger seat of the cruiser waiting for Lestrade to drive them back to the Yard, she had a bad moment, when her mind ran through all of the things that could have gone wrong.  What if she had been knocked out?  What if she’d been wrong about the gunman’s location? What if she’d taken five minutes longer to get ready for work that morning?

Then she’d stopped.  She’d told herself no more what ifs.  The first few weeks after Sherlock Holmes stepped off of Bart’s rooftop, amid all the chaos of reopened cases and overturned verdicts, those two words had reverberated through her head like a cry for help in a deserted valley.  Then everything had happened with Philip and his breakdown and she’d woken the fuck up and moved the fuck on.

After she’s ordered her food, she checks the news coverage of the foiled assassination attempt.  The articles mostly spell her name correctly, only one of them lists the wrong rank, and a few have decent photos. Most of them mention the Holmes scandal but she’s used to it.   

What’s she’s not used to is idleness, so by the time she’s eaten through a carton of noodles and watched two episodes of _Hollyoaks_ she’s twitching with pent up energy.  It’s been ages since she’s had the time for a proper 5k run; she’s been making do with a mile every other day. 

Too bad she’s almost uncomfortably full.

“Fuck it,” she says, deciding to get out anyway and walk until she’s exhausted and hungry again. She throws on her running gear and leaves her building via the service elevator.  There’s a small clump of reporters waiting outside her building when she emerges on the street but she puts her hood up and walks the other way.

 

* * *

 Anthea is not a Holmes but she may as well be. Her father worked with Mrs. Holmes in the sixties on several projects of which the exact nature is still classified, and the brothers have been a part of her life since she could remember.   She’s certain that at some point Mummy Holmes had pinned her hopes regarding grandchildren on an eventual match with one of her sons, but other than a brief dalliance with Sherlock in their late teens she’s not had much interest in either of the Holmes boys, or men in general for that matter.  Still, she does harbor a bit of affection for them, so when she decides to follow Sally Donovan around for the day, she tells herself she’s just looking out for their interests.

It’s been ages since she did any real field work and Anthea feels conspicuous as she tails Sally Donovan on her walk.  She doesn’t  know what she expects to discover; everything pertinent about the detective can be found in Mycroft’s dossier.

Except that a heavy file doesn’t convey the way Sally’s smile widens when she says hello to children and dogs.  It doesn’t capture the gentle sway of her hips or the easy way her hands swing at her sides.  Anthea has noticed Sally before—she’s hard not to notice—but it’s always been in a professional capacity and actual interactions with Sergeant Donovan have been limited. They’ve run into each other more since their bosses began seeing each other, but she’s never been able to get a real read on the pretty police woman. The last time she’d asked Sherlock anything about her he’d rolled his eyes and said “She’s one of the least incompetent and that’s all you need to know.”

Sally stops to tie her shoe and Anthea quickly looks down at her phone, typing out a text message she doesn’t send.  When she looks up, Sally is standing in front of her.

“You’re Mycroft Holmes’s Fembot.”

Fuck. This never would have happened in the old days. 

She stands straighter, using her height in much the same way Sherlock does.  “I’m his PA, yes.”

Sally’s had plenty of experience with the master of that technique. She squints and tilts her head.

“Why the hell would Mycroft Holmes be interested in me? Is this about last night?  That assassination attempt wasn’t an inside job, was it?”

“If it were it would have been successful.  No offense to you or your work.”

“That’s rich coming from someone who couldn’t even tail someone successfully.”

“I haven’t been out in the field in years. I’m rusty.”

Sally crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow.  “I’m waiting.”

Anthea collects herself and smiles.  The smile that Sherlock, in a chemically induced fit of affection, had once said made him “strangely okay with the idea of your walking across my back in stilettos.”

“I’m sorry.  I’ve been incredibly rude and underhanded.  I’ll explain everything, but let me buy you lunch?”

“I’ve eaten,” Sally says.  “But you can buy me dessert.”

 

* * *

 It’s an odd time of day, so the little tea room is quiet. It’s an ordinary place, quite out of the way, but Sally notes the markers of good quality, not the least of which being the fact that Anthea chose it. It had been a lengthy cab ride, during which Sally’s hostess refused to divulge any information.  She sat serenely typing on her phone, occasionally glancing at Sally sideways through her rather annoyingly gorgeous hair.

They’re sat in a secluded booth in the corner. The only other patrons—a group of Portuguese tourists—are polishing off the last of their petit fours and most of the staff is busy cleaning up from the twelve thirty service and preparing for the three thirty.  Sally isn’t surprised they were seated so long before the next service.  Anthea is associated with the Holmes brothers, and doors are rarely closed to them.

Anthea slides into the seat next to Sally.  “What?” she says at Sally’s raised eyebrow.  “I may not have been in the field for ages but I still won’t sit with my back to a door.”

As soon as the server has taken their order and left with their menus, Sally scoops up Anthea’s mobile before she can grab it again.

“Well?” she says.  

Anthea sits back and looks at Sally for a long moment, her face completely neutral but her body at attention.  Finally, she nods.

“Mycroft is prepared to offer you a job.  I can’t go into great detail, but it’s high clearance. If you make it through training, your assignments will make what you did yesterday look like a shoplifting arrest.”

The server comes back with their tea and cakes, and Anthea switches to chit chat about the Alexander McQueen fall/winter collection and whether or not green suits her complexion.  The second he’s out of hearing distance Sally interrupts.

“You said that as if it’s a given I’ll accept.”

“You’d be crazy not to.”

“I’d be crazy to do it.”

“Anymore crazy than staying with the Met?”

Sally shakes her head.  “That’s beside the point. None of this explains why you were following me, especially if he’s already going to offer me the job”

Anthea closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then levels her gaze at Sally again.  This time her face is less neutral, and for the first time since catching the woman out, Sally feels the tickle of intimidation in her gut.

“To be honest, it’s a bit personal.”

“Personal?  What have I—Oh.  Sherlock.”  Sally’s often wondered where Anthea fits in with the Holmes brothers, but she’s never worked up the nerve to ask Lestrade about it.

 “I know more than anyone that he’s a complete dickhead, but his brother cares deeply for him.  A lot of people do.  I trust Mycroft but I needed to get a good look at you myself.”

“What the hell could you learn following me around on my day off that your boss doesn’t already have?”

“I just needed to see for myself.  And now I’ve got you here, I want to ask for myself.  I know Moriarty played you, but you didn’t have to turn Sherlock in.”

Anthea’s earnest loyalty shaves five years off of her expression and demeanor. Sally wonders if that’s what she looks like when she talks about Greg.

“I could have gone to the Chief any time, you know that of course, yeah?” she says. “He’d have shit bricks.  But you don’t do that. You know as well as anyone. You don’t go over your boss’s head.

“So why _did_ you?”

“Two children almost died.”  Over two years later, her face still heats thinking about it. Even knowing it was Moriarty, she still blames Sherlock for bringing that psycho into their lives.  Into those kids’ lives.

“I know your people believe in collateral damage or whatever, but I thought he’d finally done it. I thought he’d crossed the line. As hard as it was to live with myself after he jumped, it would have been harder to live with myself if I’d kept quiet and he’d succeeded in killing someone.”

“He won’t do that, you know.”

“And I suppose he was off enjoying the sights of the Continent for two years? Finally doing this grand tour?”

“That’s—“

“Different? Classified? Both? Thank you for dessert and for the heads up on the job offer.”  She starts to slide out of her seat but Anthea grabs her hand.  Sally’s first instinct is to throw her to the ground but she pauses. Anthea might be shit at tailing someone, but it’s likely that her hand to hand combat skills haven’t faded. Besides, the staff would likely take her side in any row. 

“Wait.  Please?” Anthea says, collected and charming again. “At least finish.  There’s so much food left and you haven’t tried the macarons.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Not at all.  And we don’t have to talk about either Holmes brother. Believe me; I get tired of it, too.” She smiles and releases Sally’s hand and pats the seat beside her.

“Fine,” Sally says.  “But only because I can’t stand to let food go to waste.” And because, well, dammit if she’s not intriguing.  And gorgeous.

“I’d have had it packed up for you-know-who, but I’d much rather someone else enjoy it.”

 

* * *

 It’s ridiculous, how reluctant Anthea is to let Sally walk out the door. She’s got what she needs. Sally will be an extraordinary asset to the team if she accepts the offer. She shouldn’t even have bothered with this; Mycroft had thoroughly vetted the sergeant.  If she can pull herself together she can get through this without any awkwardness when the two run into each other on the job.

If she accepts the offer.

She really wants her to accept the offer.

“Oh these are fucking delicious,” Sally says after her first bite of a baby blue macaron.”  She polishes it off and licks the crumbs from her lips before reaching for another, a delicate pink one.

“What?” Sally says, catching Anthea’s gaze. She hadn’t meant to stare. 

“Nothing. Just.  Okay we’re not talking about work anymore, right?  This is purely social now?”

“Sure.”

“Would you like to come back to my place?  It’s close by.”

Sally stops mid bite and puts the macaron on the rose trimmed China plate.  It sits with the indentation of her teeth in the filling, clear enough to be used as evidence. Something Sally might bag and tag in an investigation.

“Planning on showing me your etchings?” 

“No, just my gun.”

The sergeant raises her eyebrow again.  “Why do it at your flat? It’s strapped to your thigh isn’t it?”

 “It’s in my bag, but I can’t very well show you here, no matter how well I know the owners.”

Anthea inhales, catching the scent of Sally’s shampoo and her clean exercise induced sweat.  She looks toward the swinging kitchen doors. A football match plays on the radio, barely audible.  Their waiter pushes the door open and Anthea shakes her head at him, sending him back to the kitchen. A few seconds later, the volume on the radio increases.

 

* * *

 The football match is in Spanish, a language Sally’s never picked up with any fluency.  (She does have quite the knack for Farsi, thanks to her first babysitter.) 

“This is ridiculous,” she laughs.

Anthea takes a sip of her tea.  “What?”

“Well, this,” Sally says, gesturing to her seatmate and back to herself.  “I mean, if I’m not misreading anything, well…” 

Oh shit she is misreading things. This whole day has just been so fucking weird. 

Before Sally can fully backtrack, Anthea smiles, cups Sally’s face with her hands and pulls her in for a kiss.

It’s been ages since Sally has kissed a woman and for a moment she can’t remember why she ever stopped.  She hasn’t had a girlfriend, or even hooked up with a woman in years.  She’d told herself it was a phase and put it behind her.  Men were great, for the most part, and she already stood out enough without putting another target on her back. 

But this.  The pliant lips, the tongue darting across her own lips and into her mouth without force.  The creamy, soft skin.

She pulls away.  “This isn’t about persuading me to take the job, is it?”

“Of course not.  This is about satisfying my curiosity.”

“Your curiosity?”

“I’ve been curious about you for a while. I should have talked to you before now.” She strokes Sally’s cheek and smiles before leaning in again.  Sally meets her halfway and rests her hand on Anthea’s waist, right where it swells out to her hips.  It’s her favorite part of a woman, and this woman especially is so soft and lush.

In turn, Anthea places her hand on Sally’s knee, slowly sliding it to the top of her thigh. Sally spares one glance at the kitchen door and then parts her legs ever so slightly. The material of her track pants is soft and thin from all the miles of running, so when Anthea’s thumb grazes her clit, it’s as though she’s got nothing on at all.  She sucks in a breath and Anthea starts to move her hand away, but Sally latches onto it, holding it in place. 

“It’s fine.  More than fine.”  She  clutches her partner’s waist more tightly, the smile fading from her lips  as the woman’s deft fingers gently work her over her clothes.  Her thighs squeeze together involuntarily and Anthea moves in on Sally’s neck again, her lips ghosting along her jawline while her left hand slips under Sally’s shirt.

Anthea moans in frustration when she encounters Sally’s sports bra. It’s cut too high to slip her fingers in on top and the band is too tight for easy access from the bottom.  In retaliation she gives Sally’s nipple a sharp pinch.

“Fuck,” Sally says, and in one swift motion has Anthea’s hand out of her shirt and pinned behind her back.  This brings them face to face and chest to chest, breathing heavily.

Anthea raises a perfect eyebrow. “My place then?” 

 

* * *

 The glimpse Sally gets of Anthea’s flat as she’s pulled to the bedroom reveals a space much like 221b Baker Street, if said flat were clean and organized.  It is full of books and eclectic antiques from the 19th century to the mid twentieth that somehow work together. 

The only piece of furniture Sally is really concerned with, however, is the bed.  The four poster is tall enough that someone of Sally’s height literally has to climb into it in order to experience the nest of pillows and the glorious down duvet. For a brief moment, sinking into it, she thinks she might be content with taking a nap curled up next to her companion, but then Anthea  begins removing her prim, perfectly cut grey suit, revealing an emerald green satin teddy complete with suspenders and thigh high stockings. She takes the time to hang everything neatly, giving Sally a chance to admire her long limbs as she moves around the room.  And when she leans over to unclip her stockings all thoughts of sleep flee Sally’s mind.  Anthea moves to roll them down her lean legs.

“Leave them on,” Sally says. She blushes at how husky her voice is.

Anthea looks up from under her hair and smirks.  “My pleasure.”  She stands up straight, hooks her fingers under the straps of her teddy, and in one movement folds it down under her breasts and shimmies it off of her body. 

She is absolutely glorious. Sally wants to bite the underside of her pendulous breasts, sink her fingers deep into those luscious thighs and of course, taste every inch of what’s hiding behind her neatly trimmed curls. 

With a decadent smile, Anthea climbs onto the bed and kneels in front of Sally.  She considers for a moment, then grabs the waistband of Sally’s leggings and peels them off.  Sally takes off her shirt and tosses it on the floor, then lets her partner help her with the sports bar. It gets stuck on her elbows for a moment and there are some undignified grunts  and giggles as they struggle.  Once she’s rid of it, she leans back on her elbows, her nipples peaking in the cool air as Anthea assesses her. 

Anthea runs a finger down Sally’s chest and tummy, stopping to flatten her hand over her belly and find her clit with her thumb.  Sally’s legs open instinctively and she lays back on the pillow, arms thrown above her head as Anthea leans over and takes her clit between her lips.

The last time anyone had been near her vagina with their mouth had been two months ago. Some guy she’d picked up at pub quiz night, wearing trainers with a suit like a pop star at the Grammys.  He’d given her labia a few desultory licks, somehow managing to miss her clitoris with every swipe, then demanded she suck his dick.  She’d sent him home, shirtless, Airforce 1s clutched to his chest as he cursed his way down her hallway.

This, though.  Anthea’s tongue finds places no one had ever found, not even Sally.  This is the kind of tongue fucking that will ruin all future encounters.  She comes for the first time within seconds, tears popping into her eyes as she tries to sit up. But her companion doesn’t relent; she wraps her arms around Sally’s thighs and pulls her closer.  Giving in, Sally throws herself back on the bed again, writhing, fucking the other woman’s face until she comes again, so hard she sees stars. 

“Please,” Sally says, stroking Anthea’s hair and pulling back.  This time, she’s released, and her partner lays down beside her, pulling her in gently for a salty kiss. 

Sally moves her hand between them and quickly finds Anthea’s center, hot, slick and swollen.  She works it gently at first, then harder as her partner bucks against her.  She slips one finger inside, slowly, and when Anthea throws her head back and moans, she slides another in, steadily working the bundle of nerves with her thumb. As the muscles start to flutter around her fingers, Sally leans in and takes a pebbled nipple in her mouth.  A few more quick thrusts and Anthea falls apart, bearing down on Sally’s fingers, back arched beautifully, head thrown to one side. 

She giggles again as she starts to relax, a lovely blush coming up on her cheeks.  She turns to Sally and kisses her on the nose.

“This is going to be _the_ most interesting work relationship I have ever had.”

“I haven’t said I’d take the job, yet.”

“I’ve got the rest of the day off,” Anthea says, wiggling closer.  “Plenty of time to show you all the perks.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
